


A recipe for happiness

by madridog (Cirilla9)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Crack, Drabble, Gen, Humor, Mild Language, Parody, Real Madrid CF, inspired by ice age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 18:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirilla9/pseuds/madridog
Summary: Set after some lost match against Barca. Dealing with lose in two different ways.





	A recipe for happiness

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly Sergio's point. I don't think all these things I've written here. It is not my intention to offend anyone, I love them both.

Not only Barcelona won, but he got a card to that, thankfully just yellow. As ever nobody was willing to listen to his explanations, just seeing him and Messi on the turf resulted in showing _him_ the condemning carton, as was a widely accepted rule in the world of football by now. Someone tripped over one’s legs while running next to him – a card for Sergio, someone grabbed one’s ankle with a theatrically screwed up face in a farce of pain grimace – a card for Sergio.

Of course none of his opponents would be punished similarly if they acted in the same way against him. If he was the one falling down, it was written off as simulation, sometimes ending in, what else, a card for him.

Nobody paid attention to all the provocative comments too. Referees were deaf to Catalan “fill de puta”. And why would they hear it? He was always the bad guy, Catalans the oppressed nation.

Almost as much as the lose itself, hurt the fact that they disappointed their fans. Their own stadium escorted them off with whistles and boos. The expectations were set extremely high for them. They were playing for the best, so they were supposed to be the best, to win, to keep winning. It was unrealistic, impossible, and the rational part of his mind knew it but for now the disappointment of the whole Santiago Bernabéu weighed down on him.

Sergio slammed the doors to his locker cabinet with too much force behind the push, a loud bang resounded in the spacious dressing room of Real Madrid team and Isco’s face appeared in his field of vision. The man had his possum from the Ice Age expression on him, smiling widely, eyes twinkling; like he didn’t have a care in the world that they just lost to their biggest rival.

“How the fuck are you always so happy?” asked Sergio incredulously.

Dark ecstatic eyes focused on him, the smile was now an open mouthed grin. "Do you want me to tell you my secret?" despite his overjoyed expression, Isco's words were hushed conspiratorially.

Sergio nodded. Isco leaned closer to him. “I’m just very, very stupid." 

Real Madrid captain drew back to stare at his friend, trying to guess if he'd been mocked but Isco's mien remained immutable, impossible to read anything from. 

"Doesn't it concern you in the slightest we just lost the match?"

Isco seemed to stop paying attention to Sergio's words already as his eyes shifted from Sergio's face and he poked him at his side. "Hey, is that a new tattoo? I think I haven't seen this one yet."


End file.
